


Heart of Stone

by DezeraCain



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Heartbreak, M/M, cullen semi-dies, magic does weird things, major heartbreak
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-30
Updated: 2015-11-30
Packaged: 2018-05-04 02:33:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5317232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DezeraCain/pseuds/DezeraCain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are no words to describe this. Just read it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heart of Stone

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this drabble for elfrooted on tumblr. It was a spur of the moment idea that popped up because I wanted to break their heart. I succeeded, phenomenally...
> 
> Maybe too well....

It’s an errant mage bolt that takes Cullen finally. Through the long battle he dodged every blast that came his way, battered wave after wave of bloody men out of his way. And it’s not enough to save him. All his fighting for naught.

Alistair wasn’t even sure what the mage had intended to do. He was dead already, a crossbow bolt through his neck. But Alistair would have brought him back if he could. All so what happened to Cullen could be reversed.

Because he wasn’t exactly dead. He wasn’t exactly alive anymore either.

“Stone… Turned to stone. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Alistair had thrown out the Tranquil that had examined his poor lover. He couldn’t take it. Couldn’t take hearing that there was nothing to be done. No one knew a cure. He searched far and wide, from the depths of Orzammar to the farthest north he could go. Even magisters when he caught them, could not, or would not do it.

Cullen moved no more through the long years. Alistair hated it. He was stuck in a stance of war, feet planted to swing his sword. And that sword would never meet another blade in battle. Those eyes would never smile again. Scarred lips never return his kisses, no matter how many times Alistair pressed his lips to cold stone.

Ages down the line, new warden recruits would ask who the statue in the hall behind the training yard was. They all agreed a master craftsman had to have carved it, for there was no flaw in it, and too much detail for ordinary hands. No name was left to put to it. No one remembered who it had been, or who had kept it so immaculate.

Amber eyes look out at the world from inside a stone body, for eternity without his warden.


End file.
